


Too Hot to Handle

by enigmaticblue



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney is pretty sure he’s suffering from heat stroke, and it’s no laughing matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Hot to Handle

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt "heat stroke".

“I’m probably going to die of heat stroke,” Rodney says, sweating profusely. “And then where will you be?”

 

“Our people work all day in this heat,” Oros replies impassively. “You will do the same.”

 

Rodney swallows, his throat dry. “At least let me have some water.”

 

“When you’ve finished.”

 

“I’m thirsty!” Rodney protests.

 

“When you’ve finished,” Oros repeats implacably.

 

Rodney has been working in this heat for two days, with little water, and even though he expects his team to arrive at any moment, there’s no sign of them yet.

 

He tries not to think about what that might mean. He knows Sheppard and the others won’t leave him here, and he knows they haven’t been captured, but the fact that they haven’t rescued him makes Rodney think that something terrible must have happened.

 

They had been on a trade mission to M4X-537, and the locals had figured out just how important Rodney was, and what he could offer. Instead of asking, they had decided to _take_ , which meant killing the rest of his team and kidnapping Rodney.

 

Rodney knows his captors would have taunted him with his team’s deaths, so they must have gotten through the gate. The Costonans have him repairing their power generators; the ambient temperature of the planet is over 38 degrees Celsius, and there’s no air conditioning. Rodney’s head aches as he works, and his chest feels tight.

 

He doesn’t know how much longer he can go without water or food, but it’s pretty clear that the Costonans have taken a page out of Kolya’s book, relying on torture and coercion to get what they want.

 

After all, Rodney would have happily helped them with the generators that shielded their biggest city if they’d just _asked_ , but they hadn’t. Rodney figures he has no choice but to do what they want until his team arrives.

 

So, even though he’s nauseous and dizzy, he keeps working, fiddling with wires and cleaning up connections and exchanging crystals with shaky hands.

 

By the time Rodney finishes with the power generator, he’s so unsteady that the guards have to practically carry him back to his room. Well, it’s more like a cell, really. The single window is too narrow for Rodney to squeeze through, and it seems to be nailed shut besides. It’s only marginally cooler here, and Rodney collapses on the narrow pallet on the floor with a grunt, so hot and sweaty and miserable he can hardly stand it.

 

After a few minutes, the door opens, and one of the guards puts a bowl and a glass on the floor near Rodney’s head. Rodney can’t bring himself to move. He’s thirsty, but he doesn’t have the energy to raise his head.

 

The generators can explode for all Rodney cares, and he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be in any shape to work when they come to get him the next morning.

 

He falls into a fitful doze and wakes to a roiling stomach. Rodney rolls onto his side with a groan, swallowing the bile that rises in his throat. From a great distance, he hears the sound of gunfire and shouting.

 

Rodney doesn’t move. They can kill him right now; he’s pretty sure he’d feel better.

 

The next thing he knows, strong hands are on his shoulders, manhandling Rodney to a sitting position. “What’s wrong with him?” Sheppard’s voice asks from somewhere above his head.

 

“Dunno,” Ronon growls, his mouth right next to Rodney’s ear.

 

Rodney blinks his eyes open to see Teyla hovering in front of him. She presses a blessedly cool hand against Rodney’s forehead. “He is overheated,” Teyla says briskly. “We must get him back to Atlantis.”

 

Rodney’s head lolls against Ronon’s shoulder, and he tries very hard not to be sick. “I don’t feel good.”

 

“I know, buddy,” Sheppard says. “Ronon, let’s get him out of here.”

 

And then Rodney is floating, and he knows no more.

 

~~~~~

 

When he wakes up, he’s definitely cooler, and although his stomach is still queasy, he doesn’t feel as though he’s in danger of throwing up anymore.

 

“Hey.”

 

Rodney rubs the gumminess out of his eyes and slowly focuses on Sheppard, who’s grinning in relief. “Sheppard?”

 

“Yeah, that’s right. How are you feeling?” he asks.

 

Rodney thinks about it for a minute, his brain feeling sluggish. “Better, I think. What happened?”

 

“Those bastards moved you out of the city, and away from the gate,” Sheppard replies. “It took some time to locate you, and by the time we did, you were suffering from heatstroke. Dr. Beckett says it was a close thing.”

 

“It was about time,” Rodney mutters, but there’s no real censure in his voice. Instead, he reaches out a hand, glad when Sheppard grips his forearm tightly. “Thanks.”

 

“I’m just sorry we couldn’t get there sooner,” Sheppard says.

 

Rodney is fairly certain that Sheppard feels guilty, and he says, “It’s okay. No hard feelings.”

 

Sheppard pats him on the shoulder. “Get some sleep, McKay.”

 

Rodney drifts off again, waking a few hours later to find Teyla sitting next to his bed. “Are you guys babysitting me?” he asks immediately.

 

Teyla smiles. “We are reassuring ourselves that you are well.”

 

“So, how close was it?” Rodney asks.

 

Her expression grows grave. “It was quite serious.” She pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll let Dr. Beckett know you’re awake.”

 

Caron bustled over to Rodney’s bed a few moments later, wearing a reassuring smile. “Well, now, Rodney, you look like you’re feeling better.”

 

“I’m still tired,” he replies, which is probably why he’s not freaking out about nearly dying.

 

“That’s to be expected,” Carson says briskly. “We’ll keep you in here for another day for observation. I want to be sure there aren’t any ill-effects.”

 

Rodney isn’t used to his complaints being taken quite this seriously. Usually, Carson is fairly dismissive about Rodney’s protests of ill health—right along with everybody else.

 

Then again, Rodney thinks, he hasn’t been awake enough _to_ complain until now.

 

“Ah, thanks,” Rodney replies, not having anything better to say. “There aren’t going to be any long term effects, right?”

 

Carson smiles and pats him on the shoulder. “I shouldn’t think so. Still, I’d like you to take it easy for the next week.”

 

Rodney’s eyes are already drooping. “I can do that.”

 

“Get some rest, Rodney,” Carson says gently. “That’s the best thing for you right now. I’ll have them bring in a meal for you the next time you wake up.”

 

~~~~~

 

Carson is as good as his word, and when Rodney wakes up again, he finds Ronon sitting next to his bed with a tray from the mess.

 

“Doc says to take it easy,” Ronon says. “But I brought you an extra pudding cup.”

 

Rodney feels the first stirring of fear. “Am I dying?”

 

Ronon bares his teeth in what Rodney thinks is supposed to be a grin. “Not right now.”

 

“Oh, yes, thank you, that’s so comforting,” Rodney replies, but it _is_ kind of comforting. Ronon would be honest if he were dying. “Let me have it.”

 

Dinner is a cup of thin soup, a banana, Jell-O, and a couple of pudding cups. “Is this it?” Rodney asks.

 

“The doc said to start you out slow,” Ronon explains.

 

Rodney gives a philosophic shrug. It’s still more food—and better food—then he’d had from his captors. Besides, he’s not so abominably hot anymore.

 

He makes his way through most of the food, but loses steam with the second pudding cup, pushing it towards Ronon. “I’m full.”

 

Ronon gives him a sharp look, but he eats it with obvious relish. “You want to sleep, or play a game or something?” Ronon asks.

 

Rodney’s already tired as hell, and he says, “Sleep.”

 

Ronon smiles, and it’s a curiously gentle expression. “Do that.”

 

Rodney wants to protest that he doesn’t need anyone watching over him, but he can’t deny that it makes him feel more secure to have Ronon sitting there.

 

When he wakes again, it’s morning, and he doesn’t see any of his team members sitting next to his bed. Rodney feels a little bereft, but at the same time, he figures it means he really _isn’t_ dying, so it’s a comfort, too.

 

He eats a breakfast of toast and fruit, and then Carson releases him. “But I want you to take it easy,” Carson insists. “I don’t care who calls you or what they want. You need a chance to recover.”

 

Rodney nods, a little bewildered. “Carson? How bad was it?”

 

“Bad enough,” Carson replies. “Take it easy for the next week.”

 

“Sure,” Rodney replies, still bemused.

 

He goes back to his quarters, but he’s feeling well enough that he’s bored after a couple of hours. He checks his email, skims the reports that have been filed in the last few days, and then he’s done.

 

Rodney knows he’s supposed to take it easy—like that’s even _possible_ on Atlantis—but he heads down to his lab anyway.

 

Zelenka is there, barking orders at the minions. He smiles widely when he sees Rodney enter. “I did not think you would be here so soon.”

 

Rodney shrugs. “I was bored.”

 

“Of course,” Zelenka replies. “Sit. I will get you up to speed.”

 

Rodney figures out that Zelenka is doing everything he can to keep Rodney from doing too much when he says, “I’ll call for lunch. You look over Simpson’s report.”

 

He does look over the report, which is relatively interesting, since it’s about power outputs on the city. When Zelenka reappears, it’s with Sheppard in tow.

 

“Look who followed me down here,” Zelenka says brightly.

 

Rodney narrows his eyes. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Sheppard asks. “I’m only here to turn things on with my brain.”

 

Rodney glares at him, but Sheppard is immune to his nasty looks. He always has been, so Rodney isn’t terribly surprised. “What do you want?” Rodney asks.

 

“Thought I’d bring you lunch,” Sheppard explains briefly. “I have an extra pudding cup.”

 

“What is it with you and Ronon and pudding cups?” Rodney demands.

 

Sheppard shrugs. “It’s a thing.”

 

That’s no explanation at all, and Rodney isn’t quite sure why everyone in the lab suddenly finds somewhere else to be. “You’ve all been hovering,” Rodney accuses. “It’s like you all expect me to drop dead.”

 

“You’re fine, McKay,” Sheppard replies, stiff with tension.

 

“Okay, then help me understand,” Rodney replies, striving for a reasonable tone. “You’ve never hovered before. In fact, the entire team usually ignores my very reasonable medical complaints.”

 

Sheppard glanced around. Rodney figured that he didn’t want to say anything in front of an audience, and when the door slid closed behind the last minion, Sheppard snaps, “Give us a break, McKay.”

 

“Why?” Rodney demands.

 

“Because you had a seizure, okay?”

 

John is clearly pissed off, but Rodney knows him well enough by now to recognize when John isn’t angry at him, but at whatever caused the problem in the first place.

 

“A seizure?” Rodney prompts.

 

John shrugs. “After we got you back, you had a seizure. Since you were unconscious at the time, I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

 

“A seizure,” Rodney says flatly.

 

“Big time,” John admits. “It was pretty freaky.”

 

Rodney frowns. “I don’t remember it.”

 

“Carson said you probably wouldn’t,” Sheppard replies. “It sucked, for the record.”

 

Rodney frowns. “It sucked.”

 

“Okay, fine, I was freaked the fuck out,” Sheppard admits. “We looked for you for days, Rodney, and then you had a seizure as soon as we found you. You do the math.”

 

Rodney doesn’t say that there’s no math involved in such a calculation, because he understands what Sheppard is getting at. “So, you were worried,” he finally says.

 

“I think that’s what ‘freaked the fuck out’ means,” Sheppard responds.

 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Rodney agrees. “I’ll take it easy, I promise.”

 

“If you don’t, I’m going to sit on you,” Sheppard threatens.

 

Rodney grins. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

 

To Rodney’s amusement, Sheppard blushes. “I don’t know.”

 

“Don’t promise something you’re not willing to deliver,” Rodney replies.

 

Sheppard straightens, pulling his shoulders back. “Who says I’m not willing to deliver?”

 

Rodney grins. “So, you’re not going to keep treating me like I’m made of glass?”

 

“Maybe,” Sheppard admits. “At least until we’re sure you’re okay.”

 

When Sheppard puts it that way, Rodney decides he doesn’t mind one bit.


End file.
